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Seidensticker has been sometimes described[by whom?] as "the best translator of Japanese that has ever lived"; and yet, he admitted that sometimes translation is a nearly impossible task. It becomes not only a matter of words, but also of rhythm. In a 2006 interview, he tried to explain by pointing to a well-known phrase in English – the line at the end of Shakespeare's Hamlet: "Good night, sweet Prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

"It is an utterly simple line and I think it is a very, very beautiful line. It contains 14 syllables in English. I have looked at all the main translations into Japanese and they all contain at least three times that number of syllables. It takes longer to say something in Japanese than it does in English, and so the rhythm must be different. I always liken the translator to a counterfeiter ... his task is to imitate the original down to the last detail."[3]

The introduction to Seidensticker's translation of The Master of Go explains: "Go is simple in its fundamentals and infinitely complex in the execution of them;" and the same dynamic applies to good writing and to great translation. One of the characters in Kawabata's master-work observes: "When a law is made, the cunning that finds loopholes goes to work. One cannot deny that there is a certain slyness among younger players, a slyness which, when the rules are written to prevent slyness, makes use of the rules themselves" – ditto, the sly translation strategy of Seidensticker at work and at play.[4]

During his years in Japan Mr. Seidensticker became friends with many of the writers he translated, though the friendships were sometimes tested during the delicate diplomatic dance that is central to the translator’s art. As Mr. Seidensticker recalled in Tokyo Central, some writers required more dancing than others:

"Tanizaki wrote clear, rational sentences," Mr. Seidensticker wrote. "I do not, certainly, wish to suggest that I disapprove of such sentences; but translating them is not very interesting. There was little I felt inclined to ask Tanizaki about."

Not so with Kawabata. "Do you not, my esteemed master, find this a rather impenetrable passage?" Mr. Seidensticker recalled asking him, ever so gently, during the translation of Snow Country.

He also wrote widely on Japan, including a two-volume history of Tokyo – Low City, High City: Tokyo from Edo to the Earthquake (1983) and Tokyo Rising: The City Since the Great Earthquake (1990) – and Kafu the Scribbler (1965), a biography of writer Kafū Nagai.[8]

It didn’t occur to me that there were things beside linear, rational, Socratic thought. In the West, it is an insult is to say, "But that’s illogical!' Here, if you want to devastate a person, tell him he’s ronri-teki – too logical. One of the main ways of communication in Japan is through associative thought. In Japan, something that is too logical is stiff, unnatural, stilted.[9]

He published his autobiographical observations in Tokyo Central: A Memoir in 2001. A biography and bibliography are included in a commemorative work created by those whose lives he affected, New Leaves: Studies and Translations of Japanese Literature in Honor of Edward Seidensticker (1993).

After retirement, he divided his time between Honolulu and Tokyo, which he described as "the world's most consistently interesting city."[10] His last hospitalization was caused by cranial injuries sustained during a walk along Ueno Park's Shinobazu Pond, very near his home. Following four months in a coma, he died at age 86 in Tokyo.[citation needed]

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